I had a boss.
Let’s call him Gil.
His strongest suit was overkill.
This fellow foul
Did bellow, growl –
The underlings would sip the swill.
He’d call me in to script a speech.
We’d practice.I’d try not to preach.
But at the mic,
His rage would strike,
And Gil his ethics would impeach.
The audience of moguls, stars,
Would stagger swiftly to their cars
To take a hike,
No deal to strike.
Thus Gil was left without applause.
Ere long, his train went off the track,
This would-be king and crackerjack.
He blew his top
Without a stop.
Poor Gil, he had a heart attack.
Well, Gil survived, but was retired.
In his absence, much required,
Coffee poured;
Morale restored,
And profits rose, as if inspired.
His second was a quiet sort.
He led a solid, simpler court.
The business grew.
Well, gee, who knew
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